ill
answer his letter to-morrow and tell him as gently as possible that he
has no hope of winning your hand."

"What! have you received a letter from Giovanni?" exclaimed Zuleika,
with sudden interest, her tears vanishing instantly and her pretty face
brightening up.

"Ho! ho!" said M. Dantes to himself, "Mademoiselle has waked up in
earnest now." Then he added aloud: "Yes, one came this afternoon. The
Viscount is in Paris, and has claimed the privilege I accorded him a
year ago, provided you interposed no objection. However, the matter can
speedily be settled. Young Massetti is a man of honor, and will not for
an instant think of troubling with his attentions a lady to whom they
cannot prove acceptable."

"Oh! papa, papa, don't tell him that; he wouldn't come here if you did;
besides, did--did--did I ever tell you that Giovanni's attentions would
prove unacceptable to me?"

"No, not in so many words," answered M. Dantes, archly, "but I inferred
as much from your manner and tears just now. So I am to understand that
you do not want me to reply to the Viscount's letter, am I?"

"Oh! yes, I want you to reply to his letter, but--but----"

"But what, darling?"

"I do not wish you to tell him there is no hope!"

"You think there is hope, then?"

"I--I--am afraid so, dear papa!"

"Yet a moment ago you told me you had no lover, and were merely a little
girl!"

"I did not know then that Giovanni was in Paris, and I--I--thought he
had forgotten all about me."

M. Dantes smiled as he said:

"That makes all the difference in the world, doesn't it, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes," answered Zuleika, innocently; then she added in a tone of great
earnestness: "Write to Giovanni in the morning, and--and tell him I
shall be delighted to see him."

"I will write and inform him that, so far as I have been able to
discover, my daughter does not object to receiving a visit from him."

"Oh! that would be too cold and formal, and Giovanni is such an old
friend."

"Well, well," said M. Dantes, "I will so frame my reply as to give
entire satisfaction both to you and him. Now, my child, kiss me and
retire to your couch, for it is very, very late."

Zuleika embraced her father and kissed him repeatedly; then, with
beaming eyes and a countenance overflowing with happiness she ran
lightly from the apartment.

As she tripped joyously away, M. Dantes arose from his arm-chair and
gazed after her with a look of the utmost sadness.

"O